I’ve mentioned my post-Ironman weight gain with much exasperation, but I haven’t been entirely honest with you. There’s a reason why I’ve been packing on the pounds lately, but I didn’t want to say anything just yet. Now that a few months have passed, however, it’s safe enough to finally let the cat out of the bag. First, let me preface my announcement by saying this isn’t something I expected to happen so quickly after Ironman Canada, but when you’re suddenly faced with a lot of free time, you’ve got to fill it somehow, amirite? Nonetheless, I wouldn’t call the situation an “oops,” more like a surprising side effect of too much “recovery” time after a long, grueling season of training and racing. Even though this has been completely unexpected, Jason’s been incredibly supportive throughout this period. He’s a good guy. Totes love him. Anyway, without dragging it out any further, I’m just going to come right out and say it: I’m having a food baby. Like I said, this wasn’t really planned at all, but when you spend September through January gorging on various delectable treats with insufficient exercise to balance things out, you end up incubating a little food fetus. It’s hard to say exactly what makes up this little miracle, but if I had to guess I’d wager it’s comprised of pizza, pad thai, ice cream, nachos, Moscow Mules, burgers, and an irresponsible amount of poutine. I’m already starting to show and none of my pants fit. This little guy is growing so fast! My resting heart rate has gotten higher and I’m easily winded during simple workouts, which goes to show how much bigger my food paunch is getting each day. Jason has been such a rockstar, bringing home carryout whenever I have cravings. He’s doing his part to make sure this burrito baby is being taken care of. The pregnancy hasn’t felt that long, but looking back I realize it’s been almost six months since Ironman Canada. Time sure does fly when you’re eating like a fat-ass, doesn’t it? But as proud as I am of my growing bundle of bulge, I’m not sure I can continue incubating it much longer. In fact, I...

I love me some food. I know triathletes and endurance athletes often boast about how much they eat, but I’ve read the SlowTwitch “shame eating” threads and they’re pretty weaksauce. Admitting you ate two huge bowls of cereal or a Krispy Kreme donut pales in comparison to the splendid displays of fat-assery Jason and I have embarked on time and time again. One time we went to Claim Jumper and each ordered fried mozzarella sticks as an appetizer before polishing off fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, extra biscuits with honey butter, and dessert. (Okay, I lied…we’ve done that more than once.) So you’ve got the faux-pig triathletes who are all “Tee hee, I ate so much yesterday” and then you found out it was something bullshit like an extra helping of quinoa or farro or some other dumb grain that sounds made up. And on the opposite end of the spectrum you’ve got lean, stringy-looking endurance athletes who you know are fast just by glancing your fat eyeballs upon their striated, beef jerky-esque frame, and those folks are so uninterested in food that sometimes they “forget to eat” and only do it because their bodies need sustenance. Forget to eat?! Who does that??? When I’m eating, I think about other food I want to eat, and when I’m not eating, I think about all the food I can’t wait to eat. I love food so much. Soooooo much. I consider myself an equal-opportunity food lover, meaning I’m just as willing to drop a few hundred bucks at a Michelin star restaurant as I am to gorge myself at the sketchy cash-only taco truck parked behind a Home Depot. Despite being a mega-huge carnivore, I’ll also be a good sport and hit up vegetarian or vegan places with my friends. (Though the last time I did that, I promptly came home, picked Jason up, and drove to get meat-filled deep dish pizza. Deep dish pizza is muy tasty.) I’m willing to try pretty much anything, whether it’s foo-foo holistic or offal-tastic. However, some of the stuff my teammates insist on passing off as real food has me unconvinced. Some examples: 1. Kale Chips Everyone seems to be on this...

So I survived Day 1 of the Ironman Canada training camp despite getting blinded and nearly being taken out by a car on the highway. I was still nursing raw eyes when I woke up for Day 2, but I was happy that I wouldn’t have to ride another 112 in the crappy heat. Unfortunately, I’d succumb to the heat in other ways, although my downfall was more due to my poor breakfast choice than the heat alone. (Still, I have to blame something other than my own dumb self, right?) With that said, let’s kick off Day 2 of my 2012 Ironman Canada Training Camp recap. Day 2: Eggs Benny is Not My Buddy My excitement for not having to swim on Day 1 was short-lived, as Day 2 started off with a 30 minute dip in Okanagan Lake. The swim wasn’t too bad, though–the water temperature was nice and I bullied a less-than-thrilled Steve to swim with me despite the fact that he’s not even training for anything (“I just like camps!”–Steven Hooper, 2012). After our dip in the lake, we had to change quickly and hop on our bikes for a 30-ish mile easy effort ride. I headed out with my peeps and immediately discovered that my ladybits wanted nothing to do with the aero position whatsoever. The crotchal region was pissed at me for yesterday’s century-plus sufferfest, so I resorted to sitting upright and catching wind like a human sail for the entire ride. My teammates left me in the dust but I was content to stay comfortable since I didn’t want a horrible sequel to Crotchfest 2012, plus I was trying to leave enough gas in the tank for my long run later that day (insert ominous foreshadowing here). When I got back to the parking lot, I was told by Teresa to rest a bit and eat a good meal before the team was going to start their run workout. She wanted us all to wait until the afternoon to begin running so we could hit the course at the hottest part of the day. Since we had a decent amount of downtime, we could eat a legitimate lunch. Teresa, however, being all...

This is an open letter to every judgmental waiter who gives me and Jason that look when we tell him or her what we want to order. (Yes, it’s happened on enough occasions that I feel an open letter is necessary. And yes, I realize I’m trying to lose weight for the 2012 season. Back up off me, beeyotch. I likes me some food.) Dear Judgmental Waiter Who Thinks I’m Ordering Too Much Food, First of all, I appreciate your concern for my well-being as well as your doubt that I can successfully cram such a large quantity of food down my gullet. I can see how you would underestimate my ability to pack in the calories, seeing as how I’m of average height and somewhat thin/athletic build and not some sort of morbidly obese hobgoblin who rolled in on a Rascal scooter and prodded you with a fork I brought from home while wearing an old food-stained bib I got from an Old Country Buffet six years ago. However, I need to educate you on a few things so that you will stop giving me that “Are you seriously ordering this much food” look: 1. My mom is Korean; therefore, I know how to eat. Koreans love to eat. The only thing they love more than food itself is watching their kids pig out; thus, my mother’s greatest joy is simultaneously stuffing bulgogi and rice in my mouth while scowling that I’ve gained too much weight (except for recently, where now she alternates asking me what I’m making for dinner and telling me not to lose too much weight or I’ll become “ann-o-reck-she-uh”). Therefore, despite my size and stature, I have an uncanny ability to eat a ridiculous amount of food. It’s how I grew up–Momma didn’t raise no dainty eater. Although my boyfriend is 6’4″ and 200 lbs, when he and I order dishes to share at a restaurant, we actually do split the food 50/50, which is highly disproportionate considering our weight and caloric intake differentials. To put it quite bluntly, I am a pig. A shameless, ravenous pig. If I don’t restrain myself, I could easily polish off enough food to put a Biggest Loser...

Before I begin, I swear that this whole weight loss thing is working. So far I’ve lost 20 lbs from my fattest sad panda state, and I’m roughly six pounds away from my tentative weight goal (which may change depending on how much belly pooch I’ve got when I hit that magic number). That being said, let’s talk pie. So when I trained for my first Ironman, I ended up eating a lot of frozen custard from Old School. It’s freakin’ delicious, and you can’t beat the fact that they have a new flavor every day. I’m not really a “sweets” person; normally I’m more of a savory/salty fan when it comes to food cravings. However, for some reason I just ended up gorging on frozen custard in conjunction with the ridiculous amount of training hours I was racking up each week. I had the calories to spare, so what the hell, why not waste them on frozen snacky snacks. This year I thought about changing things up a bit. While I’m still intent on losing weight, I’ve decided that Ironman #2 will be fueled with pie. My fellow Ironman Canada alum Bill is married to a woman named Alley, and not only does Alley run like the wind (I don’t know if she’s done any tris, but she’s done a bunch of run races), she bakes pies. Normally I’m not a huge pie freak (again with typically being “meh” with regards to desserts), but I commissioned Alley to make a coconut cream pie for Jason’s birthday last month and once I tasted that coconutty goodness, I got a little hooked. Like any junkie, soon after polishing off this bad boy I was craving another fix, so after trying to hold out for a couple weeks, I messaged my dealer on Facebook: Me: “Okay, so I seriously am thinking about buying a pie from you every month. Would that be ridiculous? I’m open to seasonal flavor deliciousness…something seasonal and awesome sounds like it could be a winner for October. Yes, I am addicted to your pies after only having tried one. Don’t judge me.” Alley: “Hahahaha! I KNEW you’d get hooked! Atta girl!” And thus my “One Pie Every...